My Wife Confessed Her Infidelity on My Birthday

The projector had been on for ten minutes and the screen was still blank. Esteban Camilo had cut short his own toast halfway through, and no one in the tent understood why, on his birthday of all days, he was staring at the dark screen as if some answer might be hidden inside it.

Then the voice was heard. Recorded, modulated, far too calm. Valeria’s voice filled the speakers and the whole party fell silent.

—He saw me and I saw him. We recognized each other instantly, even though we were far apart —she said—. I had just arrived from the hotel, dragging my suitcase through the terminal. He was coming down the escalator, his white shirt wrinkled at the sleeves and his tie swinging. And the steps we took to close the distance felt slow to me, incredibly long.

***

—You already knew all this! Isn’t that right? —Esteban Camilo gripped Carolina’s forearm, his wife’s best friend, who still had her phone pressed to her ear.

—I swear to you on everything sacred, Esteban. Valeria didn’t tell me anything. I’m as surprised as everyone else. Let me hang up and we’ll talk. —He looked at her with a cloud of doubt over him, but he didn’t move away from her side. He turned his neck, searching among the guests for the accomplice who had to be there, listening like him to every word coming out of the speakers.

—“Want to grab a drink?” —the recording went on—. That was the only thing I could think to say, after saying my name just in case he didn’t remember me. We had too many years to make up for. Too many stories to savor over a morning coffee. And I felt the overwhelming need to hear him, Esteban. The urge to hear once again a voice I had forgotten while I was with you, because I didn’t need it with you.

***

—Who is she talking about? —he insisted, when he felt Carolina’s arm hook familiarly through his—. Don’t tell me now she went back to her ex-husband.

—How could you even think that! Besides, the idiot Andrés has been my ex for four months too. —Esteban Camilo closed his eyes for a moment, nodding, but in his memory he couldn’t find any guilty face.

—Between sips —Valeria continued— it was more glances than words. Recognizing each other, accepting each other. Some gray hairs of his, my curvier figure and many more years under my belt. And even so, the thrill of seeing him was still intact. Strange, right? Incredible.

***

—You’ve known her forever, Carolina. Tell me what that son of a bitch’s name is. From under which rock did he crawl out? —The woman shook her head, but she leaned close to his left ear and promised him, in a low voice, that she’d remember, that she’d even check the school yearbook if that was what it took not to leave anyone out.

—Want to know something else, my love? —the recording lowered its tone—. That part will be just for your eyes. I left you at home, in some torn-out pages, what I wrote in my diary. The part that concerns you, and only you.

***

Valeria’s voice kept sounding while the guests shifted uneasily in their seats. Esteban Camilo felt like an ancient, gleaming vase, watched by everyone to the point of exhaustion.

—I’m not going to leave you alone, look around you —she said—. You have a lot of people who love you. Lean on them, especially on our children. And please, don’t look for me. I changed my number, I’m going very far away. Let me fly toward my new life. I’ll only come back to sort out the divorce. I don’t need anything we got together; if you want, divide it up however you like. I’ll love you forever, Esteban, even if now you think I’m ungrateful. One day you’ll understand that I was right. Bye, my people.

The screen went bluish, with no image, and the speakers fell silent. His daughter, Sara Valentina, was the first to come over to comfort him, very close to the exit. Outside, a fine drizzle gave the pavement a slick shine, and the cold air climbed up from the ankles. For the world, nothing had changed. For him, everything had.

***

As soon as the recording ended, Esteban Camilo pulled his phone from his vest and dialed. It rang, rang, and the call went to voicemail. He ordered his daughter to try from her phone; nothing. He looked for the disc jockey, who was still behind the sound consoles, not knowing what to play to ease such a moment.

—Do you have the number from which my wife sent you that? —The man, startled, took off his headphones and showed him the screen. Esteban Camilo took the device and called. The same message, over and over. His wife had turned off her phone or was out of coverage. He felt something inside him losing support, like a plane falling out of the sky.

With hope fading, he walked over to where his relatives were and begged them to try. His father-in-law, Don Ramiro, called first; then his brothers-in-law, his brothers, his own mother. Failed attempts, all of them. Faces crossed the gate of illusion and stepped into total disappointment.

***

Then Paula and Sergio, the owners of the travel agency the family used to organize everything, came over to him. They pulled him aside with tact, not to ask questions, but to tell him a detail that had seemed insignificant at the time.

—Esteban, we don’t know if this helps at all —Paula began, opening her eyes wide—. About fifteen days ago Valeria came into the office without warning. We thought she already knew about the trip you were planning, so we showed her everything: the Greek islands, the hotels, the guide for Egypt. She seemed surprised, but then she brushed it off and started looking at another one of our offers, one that was on the desk.

—And what was it? —Esteban Camilo asked in a thread of a voice.

—Bali —Sergio replied—. An idyllic destination, very romantic. She took the brochure, said goodbye affectionately as always, and left. If you decide to look for her, at least you’ll know where to start.

***

He took his wool jacket and walked away from everyone. Behind him he heard his family’s voices. “Find her,” begged his father-in-law. “Let her go, it isn’t worth it!” his brother Mateo shouted. “Son, what are you going to do?” his mother managed to ask, anguished. “I’ll go with you!” Adriana, the younger sister-in-law, offered, with a determination he couldn’t read at that hour.

He walked quickly under the drizzle. But when he reached the willows, still dripping, he stopped dead in front of the stone image of the Virgin, enclosed in its niche. He crossed himself, knelt down, and closed his eyes. The women following him thought he was praying for a miracle. He wasn’t praying. He was imagining.

Behind his tightly shut eyelids, the reunion of his wife with that faceless man whom he, out of spite, had given a thick, badly kept mustache, paraded in high definition. At which airport? When? He went back months, years. He remembered that December, two birthdays ago, when Valeria returned from a trip to Europe withdrawn, distracted, and used exhaustion as an excuse to lock herself in early. “Who reached out first? How was that hug? Did he kiss her shyly or did he let himself press his body to hers?” Every image his jealousy invented made the emptiness in his chest widen.

He opened his eyes. He took off the silver heart-shaped locket she had given him years before from around his neck, carefully wound it around the Virgin’s outstretched hands, and left exposed the photo of his brunette, pressed against her cheek. He sighed, got up, and brushed the dirt off his knee. He no longer thought he would catch up to her. That love he believed was so tightly tied had loosened over the years, with outside help and not as alone as she said, until it escaped into other arms. He headed toward the parking lot in front of the women.

***

The lights of his sports car were the first to light up the porch of the house, with little time left before midnight. Behind it came his daughter’s hatchback. Everything looked just as always: the lonely street, the fog licking the pavement, the neighbor’s dog barking. But the attached garage had a gap where Valeria’s pickup had once rested. Only the empty space remained, and that said it all.

He went in with his daughter, with Adriana, and with Camila, Sara’s girlfriend. They split up through the house in silence. Downstairs there was nothing unusual. Upstairs, in the dressing room of the master bedroom, Esteban Camilo ran headlong into nothingness: the entire side, once stuffed with clothes and suitcases, was bare, with traces of dust freshly disturbed. He drew in a deep breath of that stale air and let it out like someone expelling a life. She had taken everything. Except for a few perfectly arranged sheets on top of the duvet, and above them, as a paperweight, her wedding ring.

***

—Pa? She even took her vinyl records —Sara said, peeking in—. I’m sorry, daddy. She left you some pages and the album of you two, look…

—Leave that there, Sara. It’s private. You heard her. —His raised tone stopped the girl, though she managed to see the ring shining on the pile of papers. He didn’t want to pick them up in front of her; he knew that when he read them, he would collapse.

—Do you feel really bad? You’re white as a sheet. If you want, I’ll stay with you.

—I need a little solitude, sweetheart. A drink in front of the fireplace and I’ll be fine. Go to your presentation, a commitment is a commitment. —He stroked her crown—. But first, daughter… you already knew all this. Isn’t that right?

The question hit her like a bucket of cold water. Sara Valentina felt her legs give way, but being so close to her father, he didn’t notice how her heart was pounding.

—You’re right, Dad, and I’m sorry. Mom called me when I landed and asked me to pack her clothes. I heard her crying and she swore she was going to explain it to you. I never imagined she’d do it like that, in front of everybody.

—I’m not talking about tonight. I’m talking about before. About those fights between you and her over the last few months. What happened?

Tears danced in her eyes. Shivering, she found no other way than to confess.

—A couple of years ago, at the shopping mall, she waved from far away to a man with a mustache sitting in the movie theater VIP lounge. She told me he was an old friend, but her eyelid twitched, that tic she gets when she’s caught. Neither of them came over to say hello for real. I thought it was really strange.

—Go on.

—Another day I found her in the kitchen talking on the phone. She didn’t laugh with her usual bursts of laughter, daddy; she laughed softly, pausing, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers. She was talking… more seductively. She caught me listening, hung up abruptly, and scolded me for spying on her. That’s when I started to suspect she had something going on with someone, but without proof I couldn’t accuse her.

Esteban Camilo felt a jolt run down his spine.

—Until one day —Sara went on, wiping her tears— I went with Camila to a discreet place, you know for what. And when we were about to go in, I saw Mom come down the stairs, her hair wet and smiling, wrapped around that same man. We were both in shock. All three of us.

—And why didn’t you come to me if you had proof?

—Because I’m an idiot who promised to keep a secret. I thought it would break you, that it would destroy the family. I talked to her and she asked for forgiveness. She swore it was only that one time, a slip, that she had everything under control. And I believed her, because you two were still just as in love. Kisses, jokes, little glances. You could even hear everything you did at night from my room. I thought it had been forgotten.

—Well, as you can see, it wasn’t. You should have talked to me, daughter. No matter how small it is, a lie always leaves trust orphaned. Don’t forget that. Now go, they’re waiting for you.

—But Daddy, if she was already with that guy… it means she didn’t love you anymore.

—Maybe I should have paid more attention. Tried to make her fall in love again. —He hugged her and let her go.

***

Sara and Camila finished loading their things. Esteban Camilo was in the kitchen when Adriana, his sister-in-law, approached him from behind and wrapped her arms around him, as she was used to doing.

—I’m so sorry, Esteban. My sister is an idiot for leaving you, and even more despicable for doing it on your birthday, using us all to distract you and run away without facing you.

—I’m shattered, Adri. What am I going to do without her?

—Relax. I’m staying with you today, and as many days as it takes. I care about you a lot, you know that. You can count on me for whatever you need. —Her hands lingered a little too long on his chest, and her voice had turned low, thick, different from that of a mere condolence.

—Thanks, Adri, but I think…

—Auntie! We’re leaving now! —Sara’s voice cut through the air. She appeared in the doorway and was not pleased at all to find them like that—. My dad needs to be alone. Let’s go.

Adriana pulled away from him reluctantly. They argued for a moment in low voices, until the niece won. She handed her aunt the keys to the pickup truck —since she wasn’t drinking, she’d be the driver— and they said goodbye.

—Don’t do anything crazy, Daddy. I love you! —Sara shouted from the window before the engine carried them away.

***

Only at last, Esteban Camilo went upstairs to the bedroom, angrily pushed aside the wedding band resting on the sheets, and came back down with them crumpled in his fist, determined to accompany his pain with a little burn. Open bar, bottles laid out, sepulchral silence. The crystal glass was left empty on the counter when two rings made him lift his head.

He assumed it was his daughter, who for the umpteenth time must have forgotten her keys. He hid the bottle behind his back to spare himself the lecture and carelessly opened the door, already turning to keep pouring himself another drink.

—Good evening. May I come in?

That deep voice, almost a growl, so strange in his house at that hour, stopped him dead and forced him to turn around.

On the threshold stood a tall man with broad shoulders, a dark jacket soaked by the drizzle, and a hard jaw he didn’t remember ever seeing. His hair was combed back, with barely visible gray at the temples, and his dark eyes, far too direct, inspected him with insolent calm. He carried no umbrella or party jacket, only a confidence as heavy as a hand at the nape of the neck.

Esteban didn’t answer right away. The stranger took a step forward, then another, until the living room light licked his face and made him seem even more real. In his left hand he carried a manila envelope. In his right, nothing. There was no smile. No need for one. The guy knew damn well where he was coming from.

—Who the hell are you? —Esteban Camilo managed to say, his voice raw with alcohol and rage.

The man raised one eyebrow slightly, never taking his eyes off him.

—I’m here for Valeria.

The name fell between them like a glass shattering on the floor. Esteban tightened his grip on the bottle neck until the cold glass pressed into his palm. Everything he had imagined since the recording, all the poison he had been brewing in his head, suddenly concentrated in that figure standing under the doorway. The air between them turned dense, electric, ready to split.

—You’d better come in and explain to me who the fuck you are —Esteban said, stepping aside a little to let him pass, not knowing whether he was inviting in a man or disaster.

The stranger crossed the door slowly, wiped the rain from his shoulder with his free hand, and set the envelope on the table as one would set down a sentence. Then he looked up at him, as calm as if that house belonged to him too.

—My name is Andrés —he said—. And if you really want to understand what happened with your wife, you’re going to have to listen to me until the end.

Esteban Camilo slammed the door shut behind him. In the living room came the creak of wood, the hum of the refrigerator, and, from somewhere in the house, the echo of rain against the windows. The birthday was over. And what had just entered through that door was only beginning.